It is sometimes an appropriate response to reality to go insane.
This is the inevitable fate of the sentimentalist. All his opinions change into their opposites at the first brush of reality.
Sometimes you think you want something, when in reality you need to let it go.
Sometimes reality comes crashing down on you. Other times reality simply waits, patiently, for you to run out of the energy it takes to deny it.
Reality is that which, when you stop believing in it, doesn’t go away.
Reality is one of the possibilities I cannot afford to ignore.
Meaning and reality were not hidden somewhere behind things, they were in them, in all of them.
I hate not knowing what to believe anymore. I hate not knowing what’s real.
You mustn’t believe everything you see. The image of reality we perceive with our eyes is only an illusion, an optical effect. Light is a great liar.
You have to accept this reality as the madhouse walls bulge break and the terrified insane flood our ugly streets. You have to accept terrible reality.
Without art, the crudeness of reality would make the world unbearable.
When you compare the sorrows of real life to the pleasures of the imaginary one, you will never want to live again, only to dream forever.
